I sent her a picture of Gullveig-Heid at the peak of her powers: glorious, golden, filled with rage. Then I sent her Freyja.
What? I could tell she was still confused. You’re saying that isn’t Freyja? But Evan said—
What Evan said may not have been wholly accurate. Especially as his live-in pal just happens to be one of the most accomplished liars this side of Pandaemonium.
You mean Odin lied?
Well, much as it pains me to disillusion you, Jumps, it has been known for the General to tell the odd porkie from time to time. Believe it or not, I—
“Dammit, my arm!” I broke off to curse, and to inspect my wrist, which was still bleeding. Bright droplets illuminated the ground, and I started to wonder what purpose my blood could serve a creature like Gullveig-Heid. Of course, a god’s blood is powerful stuff. Since Ymir’s time, that has been true. Blood was the key to creation, blood sacrifice, the key to the runes.
Blood sacrifice. That doesn’t sound good.
I could feel my strength ebbing, my head growing light as my blood (or rather, Jumps’s blood) drizzled onto the grass of the Hill. And now I could feel something in the air, a kind of mystic resonance.
“They’re playing our song,” said Heidi. Her eyes were as blue as polar ice. For a moment I was mesmerized, lost in the blue and gold of her, feeling my body draining of blood like the dying Sun of a summer’s day. And somehow a part of me wanted to die—to sink into the darkness, to be absolved of everything, and sleep at last, and bleed, and bleed—
And then there was Jumps, saying, Hey, what’s wrong? Are you going to bail on me? Are you going to just lie down and let her take what she wants from you? Just the way she did before? Except that it didn’t sound like Jumps, but some other Loki from long ago, a Loki from before the time of Odin and the Aesir. And she was persistent, and she was strong, and she grabbed my bleeding wrist and wrapped the sleeve of her sweatshirt around it like a tourniquet, and all the time her voice in my head was repeating, I’ve had enough of this. I’ve had enough of people like her. People who think that all they have to do is click their fingers to get what they want. People like Stella. People like you. Now pull yourself together and run!
“Where to?” I said. “There’s nowhere.”
The ground at my feet was shining now, illuminated with my blood. I could see it on the grass, splashes, almost like runelight, shaping itself into patterns I knew.
“Look,” I said dizzily. “Look, Jumps.”
But Jumps wasn’t paying attention. She pushed to the forefront of our space, overrode my resistance. I could feel her energy, the fire that lived within her, the thing that lives in all the Folk, but so seldom shows itself.
“Runes,” I told her. “Look, runes—”
“Fuck the runes,” said Jumps. “Now run!”
7.
We ran between the glowing runes and made a dash for the fire pit. Heidi came after us hard and fast. I heard her footsteps behind me. As we reached the pit I jumped, scattering embers around me, and in the confusion of sparks and ash, I managed to gain some distance.
I’d deliberately chosen an escape route that would lead us away from Meg and her friends, as well as putting Stella at a disadvantage. Heidi’s host favoured high-heeled shoes, and the footpath that led to the road was both muddy and treacherous. But Gullveig-Heid was quick and strong. She soon made up the distance. And I was weak with loss of blood; I could feel the sticky warmth on my arms, my fingers.
What had she done to me? Was it glam? Certainly, that runemark of hers suggested she had the power. Those runes on the ground—runes that had formed somehow through the shedding of blood—were only a part of a net of glam that I sensed closing around me.
And now I could feel her in my mind, as if an invisible fishhook were dragging at my consciousness. Naudr, the Binder, slowed my steps; Isa, the Ice rune, froze my spine and filled my brain with needles—
Who the hell is this? said Jumps.
I explained Gullveig-Heid more fully, using a series of (somewhat alarming) snapshots, both of Ragnarók and what came before.
So fight her! said Jumps. Turn round and fight!
Great idea, I said. Let me just get my magical sword. Oh, wait—
I thought you knew how to do this, said Jumps. I thought you fought at Ragnarók.
I’m sorry? Did you not understand? I don’t have a thing to fight her with. No weapons, no glam. What do you suggest? A quick game of Asgard!™?
The fishhook was dragging me back now. I could feel Jumps starting to panic. I wasn’t far from it myself—I knew Gullveig-Heid from the old days, and the word mercy wasn’t in her vocabulary. Whatever she wanted from me, as the gratuitous bloodletting suggested, I was pretty sure it wasn’t something I was going to enjoy giving up.
“Don’t be stubborn, Loki,” she said. “You can do this the hard way if you like. But the hard way’s going to hurt, and you know I’ll win in the end.”
I stopped. My feet didn’t work anymore. My head was filled with fireworks.
“Come on, Loki,” said Gullveig-Heid. “We used to be good together. We used to trust each other. Don’t you remember what Odin did? Promised you godhood, betrayed you, and sacrificed you to himself? Do you think you’re here by accident? Do you think he’s forgotten Ragnarók?”
She had a point, I told myself. Forgiveness was never the Old Man’s strong suit. Perhaps he’d intended all along to see me destroyed by the Sorceress. I suddenly felt exhausted by this world, this body, these feelings. What did I think I was playing at, trying to be human? My head hurt; my arms hurt. All I wanted to do was surrender.
Er, do what? Jumps said.
I can’t. There’s no point trying, I said. She only wants me. You’ll be all right. She’ll probably leave you alone once I’m—
“That’s right,” said Gullveig-Heid softly. “I’m not going to hurt you, or your host. I liked you, you know. I was sad when you fell. But I knew that one day, you’d find an escape. You can’t keep Wildfire a prisoner. But that’s what Odin wants, you know. To keep you under his control. To use you, as he used you before. To make you serve his purpose.”
I tried to ignore the coaxing voice. But it was difficult to ignore. This flesh—it had to be that, I thought—was filled with fear and weakness. And Heidi knew my mind all too well—my doubts, my insecurities.
I turned. “His purpose?”
Heidi smiled. From Stella’s face, the full glamour of the Sorceress shone, like a shield of burnished gold. “You don’t have to be his sacrifice,” she said. “We can be partners. You and me, like the old days: drinking and fighting and making love. Don’t you remember the old days?”
“I remember,” I told her.
“So come with me.” She reached out her hand. “All you have to do is take my hand, come with me, and dream. . . .”
In a dream, I held out my hand. Our fingers were almost touching. Her face, so bright, so radiant, was barely twelve inches from my own. I could feel the heat from her, like the heat from a glowing furnace.
“Oh, sweetheart,” said Heidi tenderly. “This is going to be such fun—”
Suddenly I felt a jolt—as if someone had pushed me roughly aside. Jumps was back in the driver’s seat. The bloodmist lifted from my eyes. Gone was the shining face of Desire, and in its place was Gullveig-Heid, in all her ancient malice. The one who had saved me from torment only to use me for her own ends. The one who had ordered the death of my wife—not that I cared much at the time, but Sigyn was harmless, and innocent, and if I had a conscience (which luckily, I don’t), her death, among all the other deaths I caused, might weigh on it more than a little. I won’t pretend I wasn’t afraid. But Jumps was oddly exultant. Couldn’t she feel it? How could it be that I was weak, and she was not?
“Loki?” said Heidi.
“Fuck you,” said Jumps. “Loki isn’t available.”
Heidi raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Think you can fight me, little girl? Loki knows better. Ca
lm down. There’s nothing for you to be afraid of.”
“Loki’s afraid of you,” said Jumps. (Yeah, so shoot me. Maybe I was.)
Heidi smiled. “Let’s not talk about him,” she said. “Let’s talk about you. You want him gone. That is what you want, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” said Jumps.
“Then give him up.” The voice was soft, seductive as only Gullveig-Heid knew how. “Just let me take him back to the Hill. There’s something there I need him to do.”
“And after that?”
“Go back to your girl. Forget all this ever happened.”
The charm was working. I knew it was. I tried to beg for mercy. But I was frozen, helpless, mute—encased in a burning capsule of ice.
Jumps sighed. I could feel her resistance giving away. I should have known, I told myself. She was, after all, only human.
She said, “Is Stella watching this? I mean, she’s still in there, isn’t she?”
“Of course she is,” said Gullveig-Heid.
“Then—there’s something I’d like to say.”
Heidi leaned forward. Jumps did too.
Please, don’t. I’ll do anything, I whispered from my hiding place.
I’m going to hold you to that, said Jumps.
And at that, she summoned the fire-rune Kaen, and swung it like a flaming poi, and flung it into Heidi’s face. Heidi screamed. Her hair was on fire. Spikes of runelight speared the sky.
“Bitch. Don’t fuck with my friends,” said Jumps. And then we turned and ran down the hill, and into the streets of Malbry.
8.
Heidi’s rage was a psychic blast that blossomed over Castle Hill. But this time, there was no pressure, no pain. Just a warning—Trickster, you’re toast—and then Jumps’s voice in my mind, shouting, Whoooooo, I did it! Whoooooo! as we raced through the back streets of Malbry.
We’d done the impossible, I thought. We’d somehow beaten Gullveig-Heid. Those high-heeled shoes of Stella’s must have given us the edge. And I was wearing sneakers, which meant—
What do you mean? I kicked her ass!
I had to concede that indeed, she had. What I still didn’t get was how. I mean, I don’t want to brag, but Jumps was only a human, and yet—
“You used a rune.” I said it aloud. It didn’t make any more sense that way.
Whooooo! I kicked her aaaaaassss!
“You used a rune. You used my rune. My rune, the runemark Kaen, that Odin put on me back in the day. You, a human, used my rune, and—”
Relax. I found it in your mind. I thought it might be useful. And it was. I kicked her ass. Whoooooooo! Whooooo!
“You’re high,” I said.
Yes, said Jumps. I’m high on Life.
“Well, enjoy it while you can. Because she’s gunning for both of us now, and trust me, Heidi isn’t a person you’re likely to warm to on acquaintance. In fact—”
I paused for breath, and because something was nagging in my mind—something that Jumps had said, which in the heat of the moment and the excitement of using glam I hadn’t wholly taken in.
“Er, hang on a minute,” I said. “What did you mean, don’t fuck with my friends?”
Oh, that. Nothing, said Jumps.
“No, it was something,” I told her. “Wait, did you mean to imply that—maybe—I was your friend?”
No. Of course not.
“You did, though,” I said. “I can read your mind.”
I doubt it, said Jumps. It’s in joined-up writing.
I could have argued further. But I sensed that something had shifted—some balance of power, some pendulum swing—and I wasn’t sure in whose favour the mechanism was working. I started to think that maybe I should at least mention the fact that she’d saved my life—or rather saved me from something a whole lot worse than dying—but I wasn’t quite able to find the words. Yours Truly, the master of flattery and silver-tongued lord of deception, was suddenly short of things to say.
I took a deep breath. “Er, Jumps,” I began.
It’s okay, said Jumps. You’re welcome.
Oh. “Oh.”
I read your mind. Forget it. It’s not like it’s complicated, or anything.
We walked the rest of the way in silence.
9.
By the time we reached Evan’s place, it was late. Heidi’s enchantment was down to the dregs; I felt only a little light-headedness now, and a reckless kind of relief. I took the lift to Evan’s flat, knocked on the door, and waited.
Evan was standing, but only just. He looked exhausted and in pain. His wheelchair was by the window. The dog, Twinkle, was eating something in the corner of the room. Otherwise, we were alone. His mother must be at work, I thought. He looked at me darkly for a moment, then beckoned me to enter.
“You idiot,” he said.
“Who, me?”
“I can smell it,” Odin said. “I can smell the glam on you. What did she promise you? Power? Gold? Freedom from responsibility?”
I gave him a hard stare. “So you knew? You knew that wasn’t Freyja? You knew it was Heidi all along, and you never thought to tell me?”
“That’s why I told you to keep away. I should have known you wouldn’t.”
“By pretending Heidi was Freyja?”
He frowned. “To be honest, I thought she was Freyja at first. She led me to believe she was. And she had that runemark, of course. I guess I just saw what I wanted to see.”
What Evan wanted to see, said Jumps, with a touch of bitterness. He’s always been crazy about Stella. And Stella always let him believe that maybe, one day . . .
I had to laugh. The General’s soft spot for Freyja had cost him dearly, back in the day. Now it had blinded him again, allowing Heidi to slip through the net and work her plans against us.
Odin gave me a keen look. “Care to tell me what happened?”
“You mean apart from almost bleeding to death?”
“Apart from that, yes,” said Odin.
“I was lucky. I got away,” I told him with heroic restraint. “No thanks to you, apparently. And it never occurred to you to warn me, or trust me, or anything?”
He gave an oddly familiar shrug. Strange to see the Old Man’s face behind that of the young man, stranger still to hear his voice so clearly from another’s throat.
“I did warn you,” he said grimly. “Look how much attention you paid. And as for trust, it’ll take more than five hundred years and a body change to make me trust you again. Wildfire burns; that’s its nature. Isn’t that right, Captain?”
“There were faults on both sides,” I said. “Besides, if you need me, you’ll have to try. I’m not going near Gullveig-Heid again until I know what she’s up to.”
“Do you trust me?” said the Old Man.
“Not even a bit,” I told him.
He laughed at that. “I’ve missed you,” he said. “I never thought I’d say that, but it’s good to have you by my side.” He sat down in his wheelchair. Beckoned me to join him. “Sit down,” he said. “I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone before.”
“So, why would you tell me?” I said. Knowledge is power. The Old Man, I knew, wasn’t the type to give it away without an ulterior motive.
“Because, if I’d told you this from the start, when I first recruited you, we might have avoided some bloodshed.”
I raised my eyebrows. It wasn’t often the General admitted to making a mistake. He must need something quite badly, I thought. I looked down at my bloodstained hands. The blood was mostly dry now that the wounds had closed again, but I was still feeling jumpy. I didn’t know what Odin knew of the events on Castle Hill, but I was reluctant to ask him, for fear of losing the element of surprise. And yet I was buzzing with questions. Why did Heidi want my blood? What—or who—was under the Hill that made my sacrifice necessary?
The answer was not as straightforward as it might seem. The queue of people after my blood had always been a long one, and even allowing for the c
arnage brought about by Ragnarók, the list was still extensive. One name did suggest itself, though. A name as familiar as my own, and someone almost as devious.
“Could this be about the Oracle?”
His silence suggested that maybe it was.
“Do you know where it is?”
“Not quite.”
“But it’s something to do with that Hill. Right?”
Odin smiled. “You’re getting warm. I’ve been watching that Hill for some time.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s something hidden there. Something that might mean a great deal.”
“Not the cat in the box again.”
He laughed. “The box is a metaphor. The thing under the Hill is real. Although, like the cat, it can be several conflicting things at once. The problem is how to get to it.”
I thought of those runes on the grass of the Hill, and the way my blood had illuminated the thirsty soil. And then I thought about Mimir’s Head, and how the General had sacrificed his friend for the sake of the Vanir runes.
“Why?” I said. “What’s under there?”
“Patience, Captain.” Odin smiled. “Let me tell you my story. It’s a story you haven’t heard before, which might explain a thing or two.”
And as the Old Man told his tale, I started to feel a sensation—a slow and creeping coldness running down my (Jumps’s) spine. A feeling of discomfort—one more of those human sensations—that, after some uncertainty, I finally identified.
Fear? No, something colder.
Weltschmerz? I had to look that one up, but it didn’t seem quite right either. It was only when Odin fell silent at last that I realized what it was. Not fear, or even anxiety—
The word I was looking for was “dread.”
Desire
Beware most of all your heart’s desire.
(Lokabrenna, 2:24)
1.
At the start of the Elder Age,” said Odin, “there were two warring tribes. The first were the Aesir, sons of Bór, led by Odin, Vili, and Ve. The second were the Vanir, keepers of the Fire—or, as we call it, the Elder Script—the runes that make up the fabric of the Nine Worlds. But the Vanir kept their knowledge close, and would not share their powers.”
The Testament of Loki Page 12